


Cubicles, High Heels

by nsfw_regalfrnk (regalfrnk), regalfrnk



Category: Frank Iero and the Future Violents (Band), Gerard Way and the Hormones, My Chemical Romance
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Gerard Way, Could be offensive, Crossdressing, Dom Frank Iero, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Frank is an asshole, Gender Confusion, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Roles, M/M, POV First Person, Sub Gerard Way, Top Frank Iero, maybe trans gerard, pov gerard way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regalfrnk/pseuds/nsfw_regalfrnk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/regalfrnk/pseuds/regalfrnk
Summary: "You look pretty damn uncomfortable in big boy clothes, doll.”





	1. Valentine's Day

When I sauntered outside the club, Frank was blowing smoke towards the stars. My heels were in my right hand and I debated putting them on before I started running away from him. He started to speak without turning to me- “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you look better in that gown than in a monkey suit, anyhow.” He turns to me with a smirk. “Smoke?” I don’t speak but accept the cigarette from between his fingers- the one he’d had in his mouth, I note, but I had shared a lot more with him than a little spit this evening.

“You’ve been, ah-” he gestures to my body vaguely, clad in a shimmering red gown- “doing this long?” I blow the same smoke from new lungs to the east, where the moon peers through city smog. “If you count prancing around in green tights as Peter Pan when I really wanted to play Wendy in the freshman year musical ‘long’, then yes.” He lights a new fag, his paperboy hat cocking over his eyebrow as he draws a flame from the little metal box cupped in his palm. Odd how he could be so delicate with some things. “Are you full time or just performance?” His sharp greens meet mine and I suppress a shudder. I tell myself it’s the wind- it’s mid-February, after all. “What do you mean?”

“Transsexual or transvestite? You look pretty damn uncomfortable in big boy clothes, doll.” This man had unpacked my biggest mid-20’s insecurity within an hour of finding out about my little performance art. I don’t answer, choosing instead to gaze at the ground. Frank clicks his tongue. “I see.”

We smoke in silence for a few minutes. “Got a ride?” He asks, and I glance over at him sideways. Was there any chance he was… into this? I already knew he wasn’t going to run his mouth around the office or anything- the only thing relatively stranger than being a cross dressing performer was being one of the audience members at a club an hour outside of town that was known for its crossdressing performers. Frank and I had an understanding now. I nod and follow him to his car, both of us dropping our cigs in oil-slick puddles on the way. Frank opens the passenger door for me, a perfectly gentlemanly move, treating me like a real- I cut the thought off. Maybe having the perfect masculine parallel to my energies was not good for my ‘gender exploration’, so called by my therapist.

He slings his forearm across the steering wheel as I buckle in and smooth down the skirt of my dress. “Where am I headed, doll,” he loosens the tie he’s wearing and I notice more ink peeking out of his shirt- amazing how he keeps it all covered with his workday clothes. Damn, I would really love to see-

“My place it is,” he starts the engine and backs out of the alley. “Hey, I never-” I start. “Well, you never made a different suggestion either, darling. In fact, you didn’t say anything.” I press my lips together and keep my back straight, staring at the road ahead. I can almost hear his smirk- “Lady knows her place,” and my stomach twists. My inner feminist screams. My inner egalitarian gnashes their teeth. Yet I don’t reply with anything but a twisted half-smile. So he likes when I shut up and take it. Lucky for me, bottom, submissive, are all nicely gender-neutral terms, though I know the stereotypes that accompany each, and where they (I) fit into a heterosexual relationship standard.

I stay silent, though, my hands drifting over the folds of my gown in my lap and my mind drifting to Frank’s hands in the same position. It’s not five seconds after he closes my passenger side door that he has me pinned against it, pinning by my hips against the frame and smearing my lipstick everywhere. He pulls off my mouth with a satisfied hum and leads me to the door. What would I do but follow him- up the stairs, down the hall, hovering at the door frame, because am I really about to embrace this stereotype, this cheap of a whore? The first man to show a scrap of interest, a shred of dominance, and I’m letting him pull me inside his room and push the door closed using my body weight. Frank’s lidded gaze a few inches from my face says ‘Yes.’  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another moment to consider, but it doesn’t last as long.

He takes my wrists and pins them above my head, doing some kind of magic shit to make me feel a few inches shorter than him, not the other way around. Frank rolls my bottom lip between his teeth and breathes, “Gorgeous,” nuzzling at the underside of my jaw and ghosting the cold metal of his lip ring over my neck. I moan airily as he sucks over the tightened cords there, surely creating a harsh mark. “Look so much better like this, Gee,” he breathes, running his hands down my sides and over my hips, freeing my wrists so I can wrap around his neck. “Better than in some monkey suit, darling. Where do these hips go during your day job?”

  
I gasp softly at the comment, his hot mouth along my exposed collarbone. He growls when he has to pull at the thin strap to bite down in the crook of my shoulders. I grab at his waist and grind our hips together. “Mm,” Frank hums, pushing my hips back with one hand- not before I feel his semi hardon against mine- “on the bed, darling,” before releasing me again.

  
Another moment to consider, but it doesn’t last as long. I go to his mattress and lay flat on my stomach with my ass in the air. Frank returns from the bathroom a moment later, his dress shirt hanging open and pants off, tie loose around his neck. He must know how fucking sexy he looks like that, and he seems to think the same of me, sighing deeply.

  
His hands ruck my dress up along my thighs, drawing another low sigh/moan when he squeezes my mostly exposed ass. So my panties are super sheer, maybe barely there at all: it keeps the fabric from clinging to the back of my dress. As I am also aware of how good my ass looks in them.

  
Why didn’t I think of this before? Sleeping with men I assumed to be straight, that is. They’d treat me as femininely, as degrading as possible to reassure their own sexuality, and I’d be reaping the benefits of being treated as such. I kept my face pressed in the mattress as he felt me up, finally pulling my panties down to my knees.

  
I gasped slightly as cool air met bare skin and Frank took this moment to slap my ass. The whine it draws is obscene, even for me. It’s been so fucking long, with all this questioning bullshit. But I can’t take Frank as my final solution, though his grip on my thighs as he fingers me roughly says he’s the only solution at the moment.

  
As I’m trying to gain any more than he’s giving me by pressing my body back on his fingers, he pulls out and tsk’s at me. “Watch yourself, doll.” Frank warns in a low, rough voice. I lower my head and nod, forehead back in the sheets. He seems to approve.

  
I arch my back at the sting when he pushes into me, quickly trying to remember if through my whines I’d heard a condom wrapper. Yeah, there was definitely a condom. He winds a hand in my hair and yanks me up so my back is flush to his chest while he fucks into me hard, drawing a whole mess of sounds from my throat.

  
“God, how could I tell you’d love being used like a bitch,” he growls next to my ear. I shiver and wrap my arms around his neck backwards to keep us close. My dress slips over my ass and he tugs it up with the hand not half tearing my hair out. It’s a good thing I don’t wear a fucking wig.

  
“Pretty baby,” Frank groans, biting my earlobe gently. “Let me hear you.” His arm wraps around my torso and he’s literally forcing the whines out of my lungs, barely leaving room to breathe besides. I feel dizzy and I’m really fucking into it.

  
He feels my breath hitching, my moans go higher, and chuckles softly, “Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Well go ahead,” and his final upthrust on my abdomen is enough to make me come untouched, writhing against his chest. Frank just drops me like a wet kitten and keeps fucking me into the mattress, coming shortly after with a long groan that might’ve been “babyy” if my head wasn’t swimming.

  
As he comes off his high, panting lowly, I keep my face in the mattress. My makeup is all fucked up but that’s not why I’m hiding- what’ll he do with me now that I’m spent, his (and admittedly my) fantasy fulfilled? I feel him pull out and stand to dispose of the condom and I have a moment to consider- I could walk home from the club, but I wasn’t paying jackshit attention to where he lived while we drove over. Frank could’ve taken me to an underground bunker and I still would have been caught up in the way his knuckles wrapped around the wheel.

  
So I’m laying on my side, approaching a quarter life crisis when he returns from the bathroom, in different boxers than before. He walks to the side of the bed where my head lies and strokes my sweaty hair back.

  
“God, you look fucking ruined.”

  
I glare at him and attempt to sit up, but his hand is still on my head.  
“I like it.” Frank finishes simply.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been all but dead! It's been inexcusably long but all I can say is that's how it be sometimes. Anyway, enjoy this.

Work on Monday is mundane, until. 

I have emerged from my blanket cocoon that I baked in all weekend, and my glorious new butterfly form is this shitty three piece I probably borrowed-then-forgot to-return to Mikey when he dropped all that weight. I did not consider wearing the panties under my suit. I chose nothing this morning. 

My eyes have been opened to the bullshit that is my entire life. I have been spiralling since Saturday morning, when Frank escorted me out of his  _ massive  _ house with coffee and a cool, patient hand. The only thing I haven’t lied about in the past 24 hours is that my hair color comes from a box. I lie to make a living. I lie to entertain men who will in turn validate me. I have been blessed with thick hips and a nasally voice, so most of the men at the club can’t tell the difference. Yet omission is still lying. Catholic school taught me that. 

So I’m flipping through the phone book looking for numbers I haven’t attempted to scam thus far when a call comes to  _ my _ phone. I stare blankly for a moment before picking it up. I don’t even have a greeting prepared, so I just dumbly spout,  _ “Hello?” _

“Can I speak to a Mr. Willz, please?” The voice on the other end sounds unsure, scared. Not that I would know, but it sounds like the voice is about to lie. 

I hear snapping fingers and Frank is staring me down from his office, pointing frantically at his phone. Weird, his call must've been redirected to my phone. I pass the call and see Frank answer with a wide smile and he spins halfway in his chair, back facing me. My finger is still on the button. 

I shouldn’t. No, I’ll just let go-

“Leo, there’s a strapping young lad.” Frank is stifling a giggle with his hand, giddy as fuck. I frown and shift in my seat. 

The nervous voice on the other end clears his throat. “Listen, man. I just need for the weekend. Come on, don’t fuck with me now.” There isn’t anything threatening in his voice; it’s more of a plea. I am unfortunately fluent in this language, the vaguing around nouns and measurements that translates to whoever  _ Leo _ is needs a hit that Frank will provide.

I am reeling, yet not surprised. This entire company is a facade- we make bullshit calls to seniors and sell them what may as well be magic beans, but these beans take the form of pill-shaped chalk. May as well be a cure-all, if you happen to be affected by “all.” But Frank is selling legitimate drugs. No tricks involved, but definitely illegal. Now I’m just wondering if my salary is a cut of the profits. Is benefitting from a drug sale illegal? I make a mental note to research that on someone else’s computer later. 

     I let go of the button and a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My time’s up for the day, so without a glance backwards I grab my shit and go to the elevator. It’s not my problem. 


End file.
